Necessary Roughness
by JoMarchWrites
Summary: At a smoky bar on a Sunday night, frustration and irritation battle it out in the mind of Elliot Stabler. He, however, knows exactly how to vent that frustration. It isn't exactly the right place, or the right time, but it's certainly the only thing that will calm him down, and his partner is the only one that can help him. (One chapter story)


_**There are times when we can control our own emotional reactions. However, there are times when we need a little help.**_

_**Law and Order: SVU is the intellectual property of Dick Wolf. The use of the characters, settings, and plotlines is not malicious. This is a work of fiction**_

The way she bites her lip and throws her head back when she cums.

He envisions her face, he can hear her soft moans, and it makes him forget his current irritation. He closes his eyes for a moment and brings to the glazed over look in her eyes to the forefront of his mind. That's his favorite sight in all the world, and he will gladly give up coffee, beer, and breathing for a year if it means he will be able to see just that, constantly, over and over again.

He grins slyly as he sips the tawny drink in his hands. He knows he doesn't have to give up a damn thing. However, now that he's been thinking about the noise she makes when she's cumming, he needs to hear it, and his jeans are becoming too tight for his liking.

He shifts in his seat as he grumbles, looking from her to the television screen and back again. "Come with me," he says, straining to be heard over the music, the TV, and the crowd.

She gives him a lopsided smile, a question in her gaze, but she nods and follows him.

Once they are well hidden by the darkness in the back hall of the bar, he attacks.

His lips sear their mark on the thin skin of her neck. His teeth sink in, making her hiss and grip his ass suddenly. He laughs against her pulse as he suckles, enjoying her reaction and her taste. He knows he's leaving bruises. He knows she'll have to wear a turtleneck to work tomorrow. He doesn't give a fuck.

"What..."

Her words are stopped by a fierce kiss and his hand worming into her pants. She gasps as he bites her bottom lip and thrusts two fingers into her incredibly wet tightness. She wonders, only briefly, if she should stop him. She had fantasies of being fucked up against the wall of a bar, but in practice she'd always imagined it might be too messy, too risque, too vulgar.

He shoves another thick, rough finger into her, making her yelp into his opened mouth, and silenced any concerns she's had about this moment being anything less than amazing.

"Touchdown," he whispers hotly, through smirking lips, as he feels her gush. It's only the first of several he hopes to bring on in the dim corner of the corridor.

She gives him a small smack on his ass, a reprimand for being cheeky. She fumbles for his belt, then, eager to feel more of his heated skin. She grins as he bites her neck, and she thinks back to the first time they screwed around, years ago, the middle of the night during the third straight day of a particularly difficult case. Her favorite memory of that night, besides the kiss that changed everything, was the way his thick, hard cock throbbed in her hand, the way it seemed to grow hotter as if her skin ignited his.

She moans, reliving that exact moment as she finally wraps her fingers around him. The low, throaty groan her touch elicits from him is enough to bring her back to the present. Her lashes flutter as he continues his ministrations, thumbing her clit rhythmically while twisting his fingers inside of her.

"Brace yourself," he threatens, and then his fingers escape with a wet slurping noise that makes him need her even more. He loops an arm around her and turns her body roughly, pressing her into the faux brick paneling. She knows what's coming, she's prepared, and the relieved laugh that filters through the small expanse of air between them is as melodic as it is sultry.

He's slamming into her before she can catch her breath, his thick length encased in hot velvet with every stroke, every upsweep.

She reaches up, reaches back for him. Her nails claw at the side of his neck as his hot breath comes in short bursts against her left ear.

His tongue pokes out and traces the curvature of her ear and he punctuates it with a nip at her lobe.

She scratches harder, deeper, and it makes him drive into her harder, hitting powerfully as he lets out a hissing seethe. "Fuck," he spits, his blue eyes rolling almost painfully toward the back of his head. His palms press into her, one pushing into her hip holding her in place, the other slipped under her shirt, splayed protectively and possessively over her stomach.

Her eyes shut tight as she feels the sting of his roughness, but her right hand flies from the wall to entwine with his. She covers his hand with hers, linking their fingers, and lets her head fall forward. He's too much. He's not enough.

He bends his head, then, too, attaching his lips to the throbbing patch of skin, knowing her heart beats that fast only for him. "Love," he says on a breath, right against her pulse.

"Mmm," she moans, her lips pressed together as he slams his whole being into her, body and soul. She feels it happen before she can warn him, and she grips his hand tighter, bringing it up to her mouth.

He growls softly as she bites his finger, catching her soft, high-pitched scream. He rolls his hips deeply when he feels her suck gently on the teethmarks left in her wake, but it's the tender kiss she places in the center of hand that prompts his own blissful climax. He stays still, deep in her, as he sputters and spurts, moaning soft word in her ear with every clench of his stomach and twitch of his thighs.

When he calms, she looks at him. One eye, over her shoulder, catches his hazy gaze. "Wow," she says with a chortle.

He nods, smiling, winking at her as he pulls out of her, sated and proud. "Yeah, wow. It's always…"

She stops him with a kiss. She lets her tongue massage his, a slow and languid dance, as they each find ways to adjust each other. When he buttons her pants, she pulls back. "What…" and her words are lost, dissolving somewhere between his lips and his teeth.

"I needed a distraction," he says with a shrug, looking lovingly at her as he brushing her sweat-tinged hair back. He tugs playfully on her ear and says, "You know how I get when the Giants are losing."

She laughs, nodding, and takes hold of his hand. Leading him back to their bar stools, she says, "So you needed to burn off some steam, and I happened to be your outlet, huh?"

"Something like that," he says with a smirk as he sits. He kisses her cheek, then looks up at the television screen, noting they've missed half the third quarter. "Oh, well, I'll be damned," He glances at Olivia and licks his lips. "We scored."

She rolls her eyes, but laughs at his double entendre, lifting the brown bottle of lukewarm beer to her lips. As she swallows, she signals the bartender for another round of drinks, and she hears the commentator declare another touchdown for the Giants. She smiles slyly and scoots her stool closer to Elliot's.

When the Giants lose, she looks forward to how he handles it, with a little necessary roughness, but, fuck, she loves the amazing victory celebration he throws when they win. The thought alone makes her already weak legs tremble, and she takes another long swig of her beer, keeping her fingers crossed.

_**An errant thought, that had begged to be written. Hope you enjoyed.**_


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